Ashes to Ashes
by TantalumCobolt
Summary: SHIELD is dead, burnt to the ground with Hydra inside, and Natasha and Clint regroup to figure out what they'll do now. Except someone forgot to tell Natasha that SHIELD isn't actually dead.
After everything goes to shit, which it seems to inevitably do no matter how hard she tries to stay ahead of the game she'd thought she escaped, Clint is her first stop. She almost doesn't go to him - he's always been her first port of call and if SHIELD knew that (and the betting pool suggests they did) then Hydra certainly knows it too - but in the end he makes the decision for her. He calls exactly twenty-three minutes after the helicopter lands and tells her he's on his way. She doesn't bother asking how he knows where to find them.

That night they sit on the roof of a barn in the middle of Indiana and watch the stars grow brighter in the rapidly darkening sky. She hadn't felt right from the moment she found out Fury was dead - and then not-dead - but sitting here, with his shoulder against hers, she thinks it's the closest she'll ever get to right again. No more SHIELD. No more (false) attempts at redemption. No more... No more anything that isn't lies and deception and betrayal and anarchy.

Hail Hydra and all that.

"We still have the house in Santa Monico," Clint says quietly, eyes glued to the twinkling night sky, and she hears everything he doesn't say in that sentence. _We can run. We can rebuild our lives. We can still be us. "_ Or the cottage in Schwandorf. Or the apartment in London."

The ball is in her court. If she says yes to any of those places, they'll run. But if she doesn't...

She says, "Just because SHIELD is finished, doesn't mean we are."

"Okay." He nods, doesn't sound surprised. Asking was just a curtesy; he knows her too well to think she'd run from a fight that was started on her own turf. "New York, then. Stark reached out, offered help, I'll call him tomorrow and tell him to have vodka waiting."

She doesn't say thank you. They passed the thank you stage a long time ago, now they just accept that they'll move the world for each other, physics be damned. He tangles their fingers together, squeezing gently, then begins to point out constellations. She shifts closer, leaning against his chest, letting herself truly relax for the first time in weeks.

Six months later, Nick is cooking spaghetti and meatballs, the sizzling aroma of onion and herbs filling the air of their small New York apartment. It's a new one, not one they'd had while at SHIELD, and it doesn't quite feel like home yet. She sits on one of the bar stools at the bench, drinking her second beer of the night, watching Nick stir the pasta while Clint polishes his bow at the table.

"I'm just saying," the archer tells them as he works. "Hydra either need to accept the laws of biology and roll over and die, or they need to change their slogan. It's all very good and well threatening your enemies with the idea of two heads growing back, but the sales pitch doesn't really work when you can't guarantee the product."

She doesn't disagree with him, but it's the third time she's heard some variation of that speech and she has yet to see his point. Besides Hydra having performance issues, that is. So she just twists on the stool to arch an eyebrow in his direction.

"SHIELD killed Hydra once," he elaborates. "Why not do it again?"

"Because SHIELD is no longer SHIELD," she retorts.

"Not the way it was before," he agrees with a nod. "But don't bite the hand that feeds you and all that."

She turns to Nick, seeking council, an explanation, something, but he doesn't turn to meet her gaze. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asks Clint. Even if he doesn't have all the answers, he seems to have enough opinions that one of them must be close to the truth.

He stares evenly back at her, bow forgotten, voice low when he finally responds. "Don't tell me you haven't put it together, Tasha, I know you've been digging. Intentional or not, SHIELD fed Hydra, helped it grow and flourish, then Hydra bit the hand. Now the hand is seeking revenge."

She doesn't know whether to believe him, whether she even wants to. SHIELD is gone, dead, _burnt._ If there was even a chance-

Nick turns around. "Thank you, Barton."

He looks genuinely surprised by that. "Why?"

SHIELD's former director chuckles. "Maria and I had a bet. I had two hundred dollars riding on you figuring it out before Romanoff."

"Figuring _what_ out?" she asks sharply because even though it's obvious now that it's been spelled out, she won't (can't) believe it until she hears it in plain speech. She watched SHIELD burn, she helped light the flame for God's sake, and now to hear that-

"SHIELD isn't dead, Natasha."

It comes as a shock to the system.

It takes her four days to accept that she's in denial. Clint finds her on the roof of their apartment building a little after midnight and he doesn't say anything as he stretches out beside her, but that's okay because she knows what he wants to say, so she says it instead.

"We're not going back."

"Coulson-"

"Is a big boy and he can handle himself," she says evenly, gaze fixed on the cloudless, smog-thick sky.

He lets out a breath that could be a sigh or could be the beginning of a laugh. He bumps her arm and smiles when she tilts her head to meet his gaze. "Coulson called."

The words are bait, she knows they are, and she's tempted to bite. But she doesn't. He knows she's curious - why would Coulson call? After all this time... - but he doesn't offer her more, just crosses his arms behind his head and searches for the stars. There are no constellations in the city, not ones they can see from here at least.

The silence stretches on, not uncomfortable, not awkward, just there, a pleasant reprieve amongst the constant buzz of background city noise. They don't need words to read each other; words are manipulative, a distraction, a weapon. Silence is truthful.

Melinda May told her that, once upon a time. She wonders where Melinda is now, whether she made it out of the mess of SHIELD unscathed, whether she went to Andrew for help when everything went to shit. She wonders whether any of it even matters anymore. She and Melinda were friendly, but they weren't what she'd call friends, and now that SHIELD is gone... or not gone... She pushes it out of her mind. Melinda doesn't matter anymore, SHIELD doesn't matter anymore.

Does anyhing?

Clint's fingers are warm on her shoulder, tracing patterns through the thin material of her t-shirt. She moves closer, so that they're pressed against each other, side by side. He matters. He always has, he always will. Everything else is too hard to straighten out at the moment, but Clint... Clint is constant.

"What did Coulson say?" she asks eventually.

His arm wraps around her shoulders, hugging her to him. "He invited us to dinner." He pauses. "He also said sorry."

"For not calling from the grave?"

She feels his chuckle, the way it rumbles through his chest, the hot breath that tickles her ear. "Sorry that Fury is a magnificent bastard who doesn't like to share his plans."

"Oh. Is that all?" Fury keeping secrets is nothing new, but Nick... well, she'd thought they were friends. She'd bought they trusted each other. Apparently not.

SHIELD may not be dead, exactly, but she still burnt it down from the inside out. And everyone knows that only one of two things happen in the wake of a fire; either everything is destroyed and left in a charred heap of rubble, or the heat provides conditions for new life to grow back, stronger than before, more resilient.

Right now, she's honestly not sure which one she'd prefer it to be.

Clint presses a kiss to the top of her hair. "Don't worry, Tasha," he murmurs. "We'll figure it out together."

Yes. Together. That's the way they've always worked best, and just because they aren't working anymore, doesn't mean together has to change. She curls closer to him, wrapping an arm around his hip and pressing a kiss against his neck. Shit has most definitely hit the fan, then blown out the door into the world to contaminate everything it touches, and separately they're just as vulnerable as everyone else. But not together; together they are immune

Not even SHIELD, or not-SHIELD, or whatever they're calling themselves these days, can change that.


End file.
